by Adira August
“Would you mind if Deputy Wes and I spoke to your houseguests?” Merisi asked. “Maybe one of them saw someone drive off in your cart.”
“Please.” Houston waved toward the house. “Leon, would you introduce them to the other boys?”
The men moved toward the door, but Twee paused. “Ms. Houston, why do you have men living with you?”
“I like looking at them.”
“Do you pay them to be naked?”
No response from the darkness.
“I mean, it’s March, the sun’s down, it’s chilly. You’re under an afghan. You talked to that man like he worked for you. Like a servant, really. I wonder why he’d want to come out here naked.”
The only answer she received was silent darkness.
TWEE ASKED Deputy Wes to stop at the trailhead a mile from the crime scene, where they’d first met. He kept his headlights on for her and used his spotlights to help her see as much of the trail as far up as possible. She collected a few black cinders. Tire treads threw off evidence as well as collected it.
He dropped them at the stage entrance parking lot, not driving into the lot, itself. “I don’t need to be on any crime scene reports.”
They understood. The defense could subpoena everyone at a scene to depositions to find flaws in evidence handling.
“Van’s gone,” Merisi said, referring to the coroner’s vehicle that transported bodies to the morgue. “Only one uniform. Looks like we’ll get out of here fairly early.”
“Maybe. The tent’s still up,” Twee pointed out. At this stage of investigation, with all the evidence recorded and properly collected, bagged and tagged, the protective tent would be taken down, waiting for the tow to arrive. The tent still in place meant there was something more to process, inside.
A spotlight hit them and a second later went out. The uniform had caught their movement and identified them.
“I don’t miss,” Twee told him.
“Speaking of which, did you get shots of everybody at Houston’s for Cam?”
“I got them. I think he can get us some kind of image of Houston. So, did you think any of those guys were gay?”
Merisi shrugged. “Maybe the blond. What do you think?”
“I think you’re the expert.”
“Why should I be an expert?” Merisi kept his personal life to himself, including being gay.
“‘Cause you were the one watching their reactions while I was looking the other way,” she said.
“Oh.”
“Besides, you’re gay as Mardi Gras at midnight. … Don’t give me that look Mike. It’s not my ass you’re always checking out at the office; it’s Snow’s. Or as we refer to him when he’s not around, Cam.” She said the name with breathy emphasis.
“Bite me, bitch,” he said equably. “Besides, you don’t know if I check out your ass, you’d be walking away.” He caught the flash of white he knew was a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, okay. But being gay doesn’t give us magical powers. If we always knew who was gay, there’d be a lot more hook-ups and not so many beat-downs.”
Near the tent, the uniformed officer got out of her car and waved them over. “There was something under the body. We picked it up. Gordi photographed and all that, but he left it for you. You want me to stay and help with the screen?”
“Belongs to Parks,” Merisi told her. “Go ahead, thanks for your help. Maybe give them a call before you go?”
“Ten-four,” she said with a mock salute.
Inside the tent, Twee put her case down and got out gloves for them both, then grabbed her big evidence camera.
“It’s a book,” Merisi called from the driver’s side door. He opened it and waited for her. The paperback rested against the back of the seat on its fore edge, the back cover facing outward.
“‘The experience of dying’,” Merisi read the header on the back cover. Twee placed a scale ruler and photographed the book. “Seems appropriate. I wonder if it’s a macabre coincidence or the killer has a dark sense of humor.”
“Read the spine,” Twee told him.
He craned his neck. “‘Life After Life.’ Huh. Someone sent the victim to their just reward?”
“You think there is a just reward? Or anything?” She laid the book on its back and photographed the front cover. This time, she read aloud. “‘Actual case histories that reveal there is life after death.’ In other words, people telling stories.” She opened the front cover.
“You think they’re lying?” Merisi asked, making note of a name written in black ink inside.
“I think it’s subjective. It’s not science.” She took a picture. “You a believer?”
He shrugged. “I’m not a disbeliever.”
“You get the name?”
He had his cell in his hand. “Jason Furney.” He entered it into a text screen. “That’ll give Snow something to do.”
She flipped through the book’s pages, looking for objects stuck inside or more writing. “What happened to Cam?” He ignored her. “Hand me an evidence bag, would you?”
THERE WERE SIX PLAYERS at the table and Hunt was up $36,000. The fish, “Dutch,” was on his third whiskey and cola.
Nicky Hart, called “the billionaire’s brother” regardless of being a billionaire himself, sat out the hand while he spoke to his Dom who’d stopped by the table. The Dom, a ski friend of Cam’s, kissed Nicky briefly and came around the table to Hunt.
“Caz,” he said, using Hunter’s club name, a shortened form of cazador he’d acquired in his first days there. It had been spoken, screamed and whispered by a Mexican film starlet. She also had a spanking fantasy Hunt had fulfilled in a variety of ways.
“Jag,” Hunt returned, shaking hands with the whippy Italian, “What can I do for you?”
“I only come tonight to see Chez get the gift and congratulate him.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
“There is video. I am taking your Dom home now.”
“Oh. He’s ready to leave, already?”
“It seems so. My sub wishes to stay and play. You’ll bring him to me?”
“Of course,” Hunt said. They lived a few houses away from Cam. It was Nicky who created Hanging Valley. The four had become friends, often in each other’s homes for dinner and games.
“Your Dom says wake him when you come in,” Jag said before he left.
Dutch, sitting next to Hunter, eyed his neatly stacked columns of chips. “Big stack on a cop’s salary.”
The man was half drunk, already down sixty dimes and Hunter had half of it. “You know the saying, ‘all it takes is a chip and a chair’. ”
Dutch tossed a raise into the pot. “Or a tight asshole and a rich kid boyfriend.”
Hunt folded what he knew was the winning hand. It was a small pot, and he wanted Dutch to take it, to feel powerful and superior. Comfortable. Like his luck was changing.
His cell vibrated while Dutch raked in his chips. It was a text from Ad, sitting across the table:
LEAVE A LITTLE FOR
THE REST OF US
Thursday, March 2nd, 2017
8:45am - 440 Dunton Street - Case Meeting 1
* * *
Hunter Dane’s forehead pressed on his forearms which were crossed on his desktop. The fingers of one hand curled around a large cup of wake-up blend.
“How’d you do?” Cam asked, settling in one of the visitor chairs.
“Felted him,” Hunter groaned into the desk.
“Dude. You don’t drink when you play; you can’t be hungover.”
Hunt raised his head enough to rest his chin on one forearm and tipped coffee into his mouth. “Dumbass rebought. I got home at three-thirty.”
“That’s why you pushed the meeting? You stayed up late on a school night playing cards? Did you at least win enough to make your goal?”
“More.” He pushed himself up and slumped back in his executive desk chair. Hunter loved his chair.
“Merisi is out there?”
“Everybody’s out th- ” Cam stopped, backed up. “How much more?”
Hunt’s eyes closed. “Too tired to subtract.”
“Total, then.”
“87,442 dollars.” He made a feeble attempt to lift the cup but abandoned it. “He just kept shoving his chips at us. It was like a payroll train derailing in slow motion, money flying everywhere. I almost felt guilty for enjoying it.”
“Almost?”
“He’s a grown-up.” Hunt managed to get the cup to his lips. “You okay?”
“You fell asleep on the couch. After an entire day of foreplay. You didn’t wake me.”
Hunter’s cock stirred at Cam’s cold stare and over-precise articulation.
“You know the rule,” Cam continued in his soft, dangerous tone. “When you’re at my place, you have to sleep with me.”
Cam didn’t need to be psychic to know exactly what was happening between Hunt’s legs even though the desktop blocked his view. Hunter was tired, which made him extra tormentable. Cam considered ignoring the no sex in the office rule and locking the door.
But Hunter Dane was the boss here, and Cam didn’t want to give him the opportunity to refuse. Besides, other ways to punish his sub outside the office would be more satisfying.
Cam stood up. “Ask Chez what happens to disobedient boys.”
He let Hunter imagine the humiliation of being over Cam’s lap with his pants around his ankles in front of the club. “And by the way,” Cam said before he opened the door. “Mike Merisi propositioned me this morning in the parking lot.”
He swung the door wide. “Ready if you are,” he called to Merisi, talking to Twee at the coffee station.
“Wait.”
Cam got out of the way as Hunt strode past him into the bullpen.
“Team around the conference table,” he announced and took a few steps to Natani’s closed door, which he opened. “Meeting’s been moved up.”
He left her door open and took his place at the head of the long table positioned next to a very large ceiling-mounted monitor. “Snow, put the park map on screen and mark relevant locations as we go along.”
Cam opened his laptop. He smiled to himself. Detective Lieutenant Hunter Dane was back.
“Detective Merisi handled the scene,” Hunt said, although everyone would know that by now. “Go ahead, Detective.”
Mike gave them the basic set-up, getting called, where the body was found, how and by whom. “I’m turning this over to Twee, for now. She did the processing,” he said and gave her his full attention.
Hunter allowed himself a small smile. He knew Mike struggled with a bit of hero-worship, a bit of envy and a lot of competitiveness where he was concerned. But Merisi didn’t insist on limelight for the sake of limelight. He was professional and dedicated and damned smart.
Carol Twee passed Cam a memory card he slipped into his laptop. “It looks like somebody broke his neck,” she said. The monitor showed the victim’s head from different angles. The face looked back over the right shoulder further than anyone could turn it. The eyes were open, staring. Wire-rimmed glasses were askew on the victim’s face, hanging down on the left side.
“Dr. Gordi will confirm with x-rays.”
Twee spent about ten minutes covering the basics, while Cam moved expertly through her images of vehicle and victim. She mentioned that they had been assisted by Jefferson County and contacted the owner of the PEV, but didn’t go into detail. That would be Merisi’s bailiwick.
“There was no I.D. on the body, though I did find a name written inside a book discovered on the driver’s seat when the victim was moved.”
A new image appeared on screen: the driver’s seat sans body, with the book on edge against the backseat.
“When they removed the body to bag it, they found this paperback book. Like he’d stuck it behind himself. Inside we found this.”
A new image showed the inside front cover with the letters of the name clear and sharp: Jason Furney.
Hunter held up a hand to stop Twee. “You have the map?” He asked Cam, who cleared the monitor screen.
A street map of Hanging Valley Estates popped up next to a satellite image of the foothills area that included Red Rocks Park.
“Before we go on, I’ll tell you why Detective Merisi was given the scene investigation. Part of that may bear on the evidence from the scene,” Hunter told them.
Merisi frowned. Twee turned to a fresh page in her notebook. Natani heaved a deep sigh.
Diane Natani was an assistant district attorney. To do the work the unit did, she had to be kept in the dark about certain things that happened in the course of investigation. This Natani not only accepted, she insisted on. It was the revelations that were problematic, and this one was coming at the very start of the case.
“After we had breakfast yesterday, at about nine a.m., Cam told me about a phone call he’d had earlier …”
Two labels appeared on screen next to Hanging Valley properties: #5 Snow and #10 Morganfeld.
A muscle jumped in Merisi’s jaw.
AFTER TEN MINUTES of uninterrupted narrative, Hunter had told them everything relevant to the case, ending with him logging-in items from the cave as found property.
“We need to relog it as evidence in this case,” Natani said.
“The lieutenant called me this morning and told me to do that.” Twee made rapid additions in the margins of her notes, flipping back and forth through pages. “I took care of it. It’s across the hall.”
It had become clear after their first case as a team, that Twee working in the forensic lab at headquarters made discretion too difficult to maintain. Natani pulled strings—something she was exceptional at—and got the rest of the floor assigned to the team.
Now Twee had a lab, albeit a very basic one. A large storage closet with an electronic combination lock under 24/7 video surveillance qualified for evidence storage.
Merisi stared at Hunter, eyes narrowed. Hunter gave him a go ahead nod.
“You and Snow are lovers?”
Natani looked shocked at the question, but Hunter simply nodded once.
“How long?”
“Last October twenty-eighth,” Hunter said, standing. “Go ahead—I’m just going to get water. I’m listening.”
Hunt wanted to distract the others until Cam had time to compose himself; he’d turned pink when Hunt gave the exact date of the first time he knelt. Hunter hadn’t checked with him, hadn’t forewarned him. But learning about Mike Merisi’s personal interest in Cam meant everything had to be out in the open.
Whether bi or gay, the rookie detective would be taking the lead on a lot of the investigation, which would include interviews with the residents of Hanging Valley Estates. He had to be comfortable sharing impressions and insights.
The new century hadn’t changed most of the old century’s attitudes toward gays on the job. Or off of it. Merisi needed to know there were no closets at 440 Dunton Street.
Hunt opened the small fridge, keeping his focus on the table. Everyone but Cam was watching him. Hunter took extra bottles back to the table. He opened his, and waited for Merisi to speak.
“You said you felt like you were being manipulated in some way. Right now, I do, too. You’re asking us to make a big assumption, and we all know what you think about those. But it’s unspoken. It’s assumed.”
“What is?” Natani asked him.
Hunter took a long pull on his water.
“That they didn’t do it,” Merisi told her. “How do any of us know these two”—his head jerked toward Cam—“didn’t do this and aren’t covering for each other?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Twee shrugged. “We just find out who did.”
“Or account for their whereabouts at the time of the murder,” Natani added. “Ms. Twee, did the M.E. give you time of death at the scene?”
She found the note. “There was
livor, visible but patchy, on the right forearm. Gordi said about two hours. He made the assessment at 1816 at the scene. But you can’t quote him until he’s done with the autopsy, he says.”
“Dispatch got the call from the ranger at sixteen-oh-three. That’s cutting it pretty close.”
“So what were you doing between three and four o’clock?” Natani asked Hunt.
“Talking to you. Dressing for dinner. We both were. I got the call while we were on the way. We detoured to the scene, waited for Merisi, and went on to dinner.”
“Snow wasn’t at the scene,” Merisi said. “He was sending me stuff on my phone.”
“More accurately, detective, you didn’t see him at the scene. My vehicle has tinted windows. You assumed no one else was in it. He emailed you the map while you and I were talking.”
Merisi made a note. “What time did you get to the restaurant?”
“Seventeen forty-three,” Cam told him.
“You’ll need to contact the manager at the Overlook”—Hunt ripped a page from his notebook with the name and number and handed it to Merisi—“I believe the parking lot cameras work, so confirmation shouldn’t be an issue.”
He kept his normal work tone as if telling Merisi how to check out a car at headquarters. “Did you find the answer to your question from last night?”
Merisi pushed aside the suspicions that masked his jealousy and a stubborn feeling of betrayal. “There were papers in the PEV’s console. Ranger gave dispatch the owner’s address and it triggered a priority status, so they routed the case to us.”
“Who’s the owner?” Natani asked, picking up her pen.
“Houston, M,” he said, “Number twenty, Hanging Valley Road.”
“Minnie?” Cam shoved his laptop away and slammed two palms on the table. “Jesus Christ, Hunter, what the fuck is going on?”
If Cam had flopped his dick out onto the conference table, the team wouldn’t have been more shocked. Camden Snow had always been the rock. Dependable and brilliant and a little shy, but also the leader of the team’s three twenty-somethings.